


Vindication

by Karthur



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: F/M, Gen, Great War Era, I think I broke him, Pre-Canon, Written before canon was expanded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karthur/pseuds/Karthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if he wanted to, Schwann couldn't go back to yesterday. He was a different person then.</p>
<p>**Story was written long before canon novels were published, so it is probably considered AU at this point**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was wrong, damn it.

It was wrong and he could stop it, but he didn't want to. The instant she'd touched his cheek it was already too late for him to retreat. As selfish as it was, he missed her too much. What had led to this--the tiny cabin they'd been assigned to share on the ship? Too much reminiscing? Too much wine?

Probably all of it. But it didn't matter. He really didn't care how it happened. Not right now, at least.

Moments before, he'd stood there as if called to attention. In a soft voice that wavered between anguished and authoritative, he told her despite all that had happened in the past five years he still loved her and he always would, even though he knew she was promised to another.

She looked at him curiously and stepped closer. The nearer she moved, the more rigid his stance became. It was if she was holding his breath in her grasp, for he dared not to exhale as she placed an affectionate hand on the side of his face. A sigh, and then a whisper, "I know, Schwann. And I still love you."

He grit his teeth and fought against the words that tempted to break his emotionless expression.

She tilted her head, her thumb pushing gently on his chin in an attempt to force him to meet her gaze. "It's like buying a new shield. It's shiny and while it protects you, often you find yourself wishing for the one you grew up and trained with. That one is comfortable and it makes you feel secure."

He held his stance, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Her touch was burning his soul as he fought to stare beyond her. "So I am an old, rusty shield to you?"

"In the most respectful and tender sense," she answered, brushing a stray lock of his dark hair from his face.

At that, his visage softened and his eyes met hers, but he dared not move. Not with her this close.

She reached around his neck, her fingertips deftly teasing the fine hairs along the nape. "I've missed you."

"This is wrong," he whispered, his fists finally unfolding as he placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not push her back nor turn away. No, he just stood there, knowing that if he gave in to this it would only cause regret.

She slipped her arms down around his waist and rested her head on his chest. "Then, let it be wrong."

"Casey," her name fell from his lips plaintively, his brow furrowing in torment. He knew he couldn't trust himself.

Lifting her head, she tripped her lips across his, fighting the thin, taunt line he was forcing them to hold. And then, she murmured between hitched breaths. "I want you."

He was close to defeat. With a slight whimper, he parted his lips just enough for her to taste the warmth of his breath. No more.

If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. There were other ways, after all. She besieged his neck with flicks of her tongue in slow succession, wandering them towards his ear, each one warming his face and begging him to sin. When her lips found their destination, she nipped the lobe teasingly. "Schwann…"

A sigh of frustration slipped from him. Now she wasn't fighting fair; this was too much. She knew his weaknesses and she knew how to fully exploit them. It was coming time to surrender and worry about the consequences later. His eyes closed and he relaxed in her arms long enough to entwine a hand in her dusty blonde hair. Turning her chin towards him, his eyes slipped closed, posed to finally kiss her. "Are you sure?" he asked, each word anxiously trembling in the space between the two of them.

Her response was to claim his lips in an ardent, passionate kiss as her hands splayed wide against his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling him even closer.

After that, he resisted no more.


	2. Chapter One

**_Ten years ago…_ **

It was worth it, damn it.

Schwann sat cross-legged on the rough plank in the castle dungeon. It wasn't so bad, and despite being stuck there for a fortnight, he was content. It had been a long time coming and today just happened to be the wrong day for Cumore to pick a fight.

Cumore. His name just made Schwann seethe with hatred. Born to one of the highest ranked families in the nobility, Cumore was a snob, plain and simple. He lacked any sort of skill with a blade—or anything else for that matter—but was still one of the few squires selected for officer training. He was so arrogant that he didn't even bother to hide the fact that he'd bought his way in. No, he _flaunted_ it.

Lying back on the plank of a bed, Schwann smiled to himself, remembering the instant his fist crushed the other boy's nose. The twisting of cartilage and subsequent splash of blood was nothing short of poetic. The crowd cheered but that couldn't drown out the whimpering, sniveling cries of pain coming from Cumore. _And that,_ Schwann thought, _was most definitely the best part._

A familiar voice called his name and he sat up to see Casey standing there. Dressed in simple clothes and carrying a burlap pack, it was hard to believe his closest friend was actually the daughter of a nobleman.

"So you're a criminal now?" she teased.

"It was worth it."

"I know. I wish I had been the one to do it, though."

He grinned. "Beat you to it." Standing up, he leaned on the wall near the bars. "I just hope I didn't anger the Commandant too much."

"Well," she said, a smirk tingling her lips as she lowered her voice. "When I walked by his quarters, I heard him telling his Captains about it. They were laughing. I guess they're all sick of Cumore, too."

"Then I guess it was more of a public service than a crime."

"Yeah," Casey replied. "Seriously." Sitting down on the cold stones outside the cell, she opened her pack. "I brought you something to eat. I figure even what they cook up in the mess hall is better than prisoner's rations."

He smiled and sat opposite her. "Thanks."

Casey handed him a sandwich and kept one for herself. "Tuna fish."

"My favorite."

"Consider it a reward," she smiled. "Though, when I get my turn at him, I'll stick him full of arrows."

"Always got to one-up me, don't you?" Schwann teased between bites. "Damn, this is good."

"I didn't make it," she answered, setting the sandwich down just long enough to secure her long blonde hair in a ponytail. "And of course I have to outdo you. Keeps you honest. I can't have you going on to make Captain and leaving me in the dust."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Not going to happen. I firmly believe that anyone with a rank above Lieutenant is a horse's ass. And, that's one thing I don't want to be."

"A captain or a horse's ass?" She raised a mocking brow at him. "I think you have already mastered the latter. Or, at least that's what the gardener girl told me. Apparently, I need to teach you how to flirt."

He sighed. "Yes, I'm not putting that one in the win column."

Mimicking his voice, she said, "Do you have a map because I keep getting lost in your eyes." Then, after an amused shake of her head, she added: "That was the worst thing I've ever heard. I mean, really? Where did you come up with that?"

"I heard one of the knights saying it to a maid."

"Where?"

"At the tavern."

"No more learning how to get dates in the tavern for you," Casey giggled, offering him an apple.

"Yeah," he said, taking the fruit. "I'm not doing that again."

"Though," she tapped her chin in false thought. "I think it was better than your behavior with the quartermaster's daughter and her prissy friends. I hope I've taught you proper manners since then."

He wanted to sink into the floor. "Let's not relieve that. I was…what…thirteen?"

"Two years isn't long enough to forget _that_ ," she said, giving him a wink. "I'm just glad you've learned that females don't think belching contests are attractive."

"Such abuse," he replied, feigning injury. "We all make mistakes."

She laughed. A comfortable silence held between them as they ate their sandwiches and fruit. After awhile, she retrieved a canteen from the pack and stared at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, noticing how her demeanor had changed.

Her brow furrowed and she passed him the canteen, but didn't meet his eyes. "Is it true what Cumore said?"

"About what?" he answered, taking a drink before passing it back to her.

She looked up at him. "About your family?"

His head dropped, his dark hair curtaining his eyes. "Yes."

"All of it?"

He nodded. "Yes, my mother was a scullery maid who worked in a noble's house. She and him…well…they had an affair. When my father learned my mother was pregnant, he wanted nothing to do with her. He threw her out of his household and she returned to the Lower Quarter. That's where I was born." A long sigh slipped from his lips. "And that's why Cumore hates me so much. The bastard son of a nobleman being allowed in the knights is some kind of personal insult to him."

"Schwann…I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he shrugged.

She tilted her head. "Did you ever meet your father?"

He dragged a distracted finger across the smooth stone floor of his cell. "After my mother died, I went to his home and told him who I was and that she was dead. He cursed at me and told me never to come back."

"How old were you?"

"It was right before I joined the knights, so thirteen."

She sighed. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Nothing to really tell, I guess."

Raising a brow at him, she asked, "Were you afraid I would look down on you, too?"

"No, Casey," he said, looking back up at her. "I know you're one of the good ones."

"Yeah, something like that," she replied, offering the canteen again. "Besides, remember that Cumore and his friends hate me, too. Probably more so."

He took another drink. "Right because you 'don't act like a noble.' I hope you take that as a compliment."

"I do," she said with a smile. "The class system in the Empire is ridiculous. They should take some cues from the Guilds."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, kneeling close to the bars to hand her the canteen. "I don't know much about the Guilds, though. How do you?"

"They're quite interesting. I read about them," she said a little too quickly. "But enough of that." Rising up to her knees she gripped the bars of his cell and met his eyes. "You really impressed me today, Schwann."

Her tone had changed when she said that, or at least he heard that last sentence differently. The words were tender and yet there seemed to be a drawl of sensuality behind them. He'd heard her speak that way to boys she liked, but never to him. "Umm…thanks," he answered nervously holding the canteen up between them.

She reached in and took it, her hand lilting just a bit too long over his as she gave him a warm smile.

He'd waited for this moment for months. How he'd longed to tell her that he wanted to think of her as more than just a friend but he'd been terrified to broach the subject lest she reject him. Now, blissfully, that fear seemed quashed.

Leaning his forehead against the bars, he watched her dark eyes dart back and forth, mirroring his own glances. He wasn't really sure how to kiss a girl, let alone through bars in a cell, but fortunately she took care of that.

Parting the bit of hair that hung in his face, she brushed her lips against his. It wasn't more than a caress, a chaste bit of a kiss, but it tickled every last nerve in his body.

Stepping back, she smiled at him, her cheeks red with color. "It's easier when there aren't bars in the way."

"Yeah," he answered, feeling the blush spreading over his face. "When I get out of here, I'm kissing you for real."

She winked and pressed the tip of his nose playfully. "If I let you." Rising, she sighed, "I'll bring you supper again tomorrow, but I better get back before lights out."

"Yeah…" he said, standing up and reaching to take her hand and kiss it. "Good night."

"Night, Schwann," she touched his cheek and then turned to leave. A few steps further and she glanced over her shoulder to smile at him before ascending the stairs.

He watched her go, holding his hand to the spot on his face where she had placed her hand. It seemed to tingle with warmth, wanting more of her touch. Sitting back on the plank, he wondered if the temperature in the dungeon had risen ten degrees.

Suddenly a fortnight seemed like a _very_ long time.


	3. Chapter Two

**_Eight years ago…_ **

It was awkward, damn it.

It was inevitable that it would be like this, one of these days. He'd been waiting and wanting this for so long, and now, he could have her. He'd imagined how it would be, how it would happen, how it would feel. But it wasn't perfect.

He'd wanted their first night together to be something special, something romantic. And it was, but it was still awkward. Seeing her so vulnerable and being so vulnerable to her was intimidating and beautiful at the same time. He liked to believe he pleased her even though he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Though, they were both at the same disadvantage since Casey—who was generally better versed in such things—was just as nervous and naïve.

He'd been in her room many times before, but never overnight. All the rooms were the same. A bed, a dresser, a chair, a desk and a lamp. Nothing special, all practical. Hers felt different this time, though. In then darkness, things seemed so serene, ethereal, even. The fire lilies she kept in a vase on the dresser created eerie shadows on the wall that seemed to watch them. Rain pelting the window sounded like impatient knocks on the door. Fortunately, he didn't let either of these annoyances deter him.

Exhausted but too nervous lying beside her to sleep, he couldn't help but think how perfectly she fit in his arms. He played with her hair and brushed it off her neck and out of his face. Mesmerized by the tiny, imperfect freckles on her back, he touched each one as if making a game out of connecting them. But one of the marks high on her back wasn't a freckle—it was a small, red tattoo of an arrow.

"Casey," he murmured into her ear. "What's this mark?"

She rolled out of his grasp and covered herself in the top sheet. "It's nothing."

"It's a guild tattoo, isn't it?"

She didn't answer him.

He nearly choked in disbelief on his words. "Are you…a spy for the guilds?"

"No," she spat. "Of course not!"

"Then why do you have this mark?"

"I can't tell you, but I can promise you I'm not a spy."

"Don't you trust me?" the question seemed so simple but he knew it was completely manipulative.

She glanced back over her shoulder. "Schwann, if there was ever a time that I needed you to trust me, it's right now."

His eyes closed and his brow furrowed in distress. "After all we've been through, Casey. After last night…I thought we weren't going to keep secrets."

"If I tell you," she said, rolling over to face him. "You must swear on your life that you will not tell a soul."

"Yes," he said, propping his head up on the pillow with his elbow.

"Swear it!"

"I swear it."

She twirled one of his long bangs around her finger. "Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a knight. But for people like me, that's easier said than done."

"People like you?"

She took a long breath before looking him in the eyes. "My family is involved with a guild. That's why I wear their mark."

"Which one?" he asked, not that it mattered. All guilds were enemies of the empire.

"Altosk." At his confused look, she added, "Some people call it Heaven's Arrow."

"I guess that explains why you're so damn deadly with a bow," he said, trying not to frown. He knew that guild members must renounce their citizenship and all of its privileges in favor of their self-created laws. Although there hadn't been a war between the two factions, skirmishes were rather frequent and the hatred ran deep. Thus, to be a trustworthy knight and a loyal member of a guild would be impossible. It killed him to admit it, but even as amazing as Casey was, she was no exception to that rule.

"I learned to shoot as soon as I could walk," she glanced away. "Most children born into guilds are taught to fight that young."

"I see. And the mark? It was given to you as a child?"

"Yes, I was so young I don't remember it. It's probably best that way. I've heard it's kind of painful." She sighed, "Though if you join a guild later in life, you will wear their mark."

"Do all guilds have them?" he asked, not that he cared for the answer. He just wanted to hear her voice and remind himself that in the past few minutes she hadn't changed, even if everything he knew about her did.

"Most do. Those that are involved in combat, at least. It serves a purpose."

"What purpose?"

She curled herself against his chest. "Should a guild member fall in battle, the enemy will know where to deliver their body. It would be considered disrespectful not to bring the dead back to their families."

"So I guess there's honor among thieves and murderers," he muttered.

"We are not thieves," she pushed away from him and glowered. Her words were so sharp they nearly cut off his nose. "Some guilds may be thieves but my father's guild is one the stands to protect people. No respectable member of the Union would commit murder—at least not against another guild member. It is strictly forbidden."

"Wait, just listen to yourself. It's fine to kill knights but not other guild members, no matter if they are thieves or murderers?" he asked, a slight edge of disgust forming on his words.

"If they are a member of the Union, then no," she said quickly, the burn of anger rising in her tone. "The courtesy generally extends beyond to others, though. If I were to go out and take down the leader of say, Ruin's Gate just for the hell of it, I would have a full scale guild war on my hands."

He considered a moment. "What is Ruin's Gate?"

"They excavate ruins and blastia. Hardly murderers and thieves as you so eloquently put it."

He snorted. "So they're grave robbers. That's a step up."

"Is being an asshole something you like to do after we sleep together?" she said, snatching the top sheet off the bed to cover herself as she stood up. "If so, just get out."

"Casey…"

"Just go back to your room, Schwann," she turned away, her voice straining against checked emotions. "I thought you were one of the good ones. I guess I was mistaken."

After fumbling around near the bed to find his shorts, he finally managed to pull them on. "Casey, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not!" she snapped, furor racing in her dark eyes. "You tell me how you hate that people judge you because you're the bastard son of a noble and his maid! What makes you think it feels any different to have you decide that my family is a band of thieves or murderers?"

Stepping cautiously towards her, he brushed his hair out of his face. "No, I really am sorry. I only know what I've been told about the guilds. And maybe those things are wrong. But it's also wrong that you didn't tell me about any of this. I know why you couldn't tell anyone else but—"

"I knew you'd react like this," she answered, her face flushing with rage. "I think you've shown me that even the lowest ranking members of the empire still hold hatred for us."

He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away from him. "Come on."

Silence warily filled the room as they both stood perfectly still. A decade seemed to pass until she said, "You know, one of the laws of my father's guild is, 'If you lay hands on one of our own, be prepared to lay hands on us all.'"

He tilted his head, stepping closer, trying to catch her gaze as she kept her back to him. "All for one and one for all?"

"Yes," she answered, turning slightly. "So when you insult my father's guild, you also insult me."

"I'm sorry," he said, daring to put his arms around her waist and hold her gingerly from behind. "I really don't know what else to say. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She sighed as she folded into his embrace. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Will you tell me everything?" he asked gently.

She turned to face him and leaned against his chest. "Yes," she said, pulling him with her. "But let's get back in bed. I'm cold."

He wasn't going to complain. Grinning, he slipped under the sheet and blanket to lie on his back. With a quick kiss to his cheek, she made herself comfortable snuggling against his shoulder. "So the guilds aren't much different than the knights, I guess," he said. "With that pledge to stand beside each other."

She nodded, drawing her arm out from under the trappings. "Though, there is an exception. If two members of different guilds have a personal quarrel, they can engage each other. They must fight alone and their guilds must not interfere."

"Does that happen often?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, kissing his neck. "Mostly when men fight over women."

"Now that is no different than the empire."

"Women also fight over men."

"I'd pay to see one of those fights," he teased.

"Then you'd need to go to Nordopolica. The guild there, Palestralle, runs a coliseum where people fight monsters or each other." Flipping his hair from his face, she smirked. "The fights with women generally bring in bigger crowds."

"You've been?"

"No," she said, closing her eyes as she rested against him. "But I want to go."

"I would _definitely_ pay to see that."

She laughed. "Anyway, I guess I should tell you that all guilds have their own laws. Their members must swear to them before they receive their mark."

"You didn't have a choice, though."

"I was too young and born into Altosk. So, no, I didn't have a choice."

"What does your father's guild do?"

"Protect cities, defeat monsters, keep the other guilds in line," she sighed. "He spends an awful lot of time keeping the hot heads from fighting each other."

He tangled a hand in her hair, letting her tresses slip through his fingers. "Do guilds charge for their services?"

"Most do, but sometimes they work gratis. Altosk has done some good will jobs in the past."

"Protection at a cost. Sounds no different than the knights, except taxes pay us."

"Yeah," she smiled. "Or they will when we graduate next year." She paused, letting a long sigh escape her lips. "I kind of wish my dad could be here for that, but I know it's impossible."

"I'm sure he could sneak in," he kissed her forehead. I doubt anyone really pays attention anyway."

She frowned even more and took his hand. "Schwann, my father isn't just a member of Altosk. My father is Don Whitehorse, leader of the Union. And if anyone found that out—"

His eyes widened as he interrupted her. "It could mean big trouble for you or your father."

She nodded. "Just as you accused me of being a spy."

"I didn't mean that! I swear I didn't mean that," he said, drawing her closer and brushing his lips against her neck. "But there's something I don't get."

"What's that?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

"Why join the knights? Can't you join the guild?"

Her expression was one of intense resolve as she said, "I want to be a knight."

"And your father was completely in agreement with this decision?"

"The guilds believe in doing what you think is right," she said, kissing him once on the cheek. "It would be hypocritical of him to say otherwise. I think being a knight is the right thing for me to do. My father supported my decision and even had someone forge papers so it appeared that I was born into the empire. He figured it would cause less trouble for me in the long run if people just believed I was the daughter of a nobleman."

"And for him," he smiled at her. "I still can't believe this."

"Why not?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just can't imagine the leader of the guilds allowing his daughter to become one of those that normally causes problems for him."

"You'd understand if you met him," she said, flicking his nose playfully. "My father sent me here with his blessing. He even gave me Divine Cannon, the bow that is considered the family treasure."

"I remember you saying there was something special about it."

"That's not all," she whispered, right into his ear as if telling him a most delicate secret. "It will collapse and fold into a sword. I haven't shown anyone that trick because it would only raise suspicion."

"Probably," he whispered back before nipping at her shoulder. All of this talk was boring him. There were much more interesting things to do. "Guild weapons are unique."

"Yes," she answered to his words or his actions, he didn't know or really care. "Perhaps I could teach you to use it if you want, but only if you rid yourself of the idea that only cowards fight with bows."

"I…didn't mean that," he said, pulling back for a moment.

With his guard down, she rolled on top of him, her hands mischievously pinning his arms above his head. "You said it when we first met."

"I think I've grown up since then," he said, grinning up at her.

"I should hope so."


	4. Chapter Three

**_Seven years ago…_ **

It wasn't fair, damn it.

The railing of the balcony was frozen with snow and the stones rough, but that did not deter Schwann from leaning on it, no matter how much he despised being cold. He moved a bit to the right, such that he was out of view of the door and any that would disturb him. Reclaiming the rail, he displaced another bunch of snow into the courtyard below. The powder fell and splashed onto a small, dirty, drift dusting it back to white. He watched this with more interest that it deserved and knocked some more off the railing to add to it. Behind him, in the warmth of the castle's ballroom, his classmates reveled and danced. He wanted none of it, though.

Commencement. That's what the celebration going on behind him was; the beginning of their careers as military officers. There was so much more to come, so much more to do. But it all seemed pointless now.

Dusting off the sleeves of his uniform, he crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to warm up. It did not work. Steps approached him and from the sound of the stride he knew it to be Casey.

"Well, there you are," she said, moving to stand next to him. "I thought for a moment that you'd found a lovely maiden to take into one of the dark corners of the castle."

He didn't even glance at her. Normally her wit would at least produce a smirk or a retort. Not this time.

"You're going to catch your death of cold out here," she sighed, offering a heavy fur cloak she carried on her arm.

He shook his head at it. Damn her for having to come out. He just wanted to be left alone.

She placed the mantle over his shoulders. "Did you have too much wine?"

"No," he said, drawing the cloak around him. She knew how much he hated the cold. He was thankful for that, at least.

"Were the daughters of the ranking knights bothering you?" she asked, folding her arms into her own cape.

"No."

She tried the most direct approach, pulling on his arm and grinning at him. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"No," he said, tiredly rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Well, I honestly wasn't expecting that answer."

He said nothing.

She leaned her back against the balcony in an effort to force him to look at her. "You aren't drunk. You aren't tired of girls trying to whisk you off somewhere. You don't want me. So, then, why are you standing here, all alone, freezing your ass off?"

He waited a moment, considering the best way to say this. All he managed was, "It's not fair, Casey."

"What's not fair?" she asked.

His eyes trained off somewhere in the middle distance between her and the star sprinkled sky beyond. "Well, Captain Louis told me today that he thought I would make Lieutenant in a year."

"That's good news," she said, reaching up to pull out the series of plaits that held her long blonde hair in an intricate formation on her head. "Damn this thing. I am never doing this to my hair again."

He muttered, "Good. It looks awful."

"Well, at least I got a reaction out of you," she teased. "Anyway, isn't that what you wanted? You've been talking about how you want to advance, how you want to prove to those who said you were nothing but commoner trash—"

He turned to face her and assisted with the braids, removing the tiny hairpins and delicately freeing her hair from its temporary prison. "That's not it, Casey."

"Then, tell me," she touched a hand to his face. "I hate to see you so miserable on what should be a happy day for both of us."

Placing more pins into her hand, he said quietly, "Captain Louis had me reassigned to him. He's taken a liking to me, I guess. So, I won't be going with you and the Rosalind Brigade."

"Oh," she sighed, trying not to pull away as he tugged on a particularly obstinate part of her plaits. "Well, look on the bright side; at least you won't be with Cumore. I heard he made Lieutenant. I may have to take orders from that asshole."

"Probably bought the rank," Schwann said, taking a quick glance towards the door make sure no one had appeared while he was distracted.

She shook her hair out, letting it fall around her shoulders. "Definitely."

He just stood there, looking up at the barrier in the sky.

"Please say something?" she begged, slipping her hands around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "You scare me when you're like this. It's as if all emotion is drained out of you."

He drew back, ever so slightly. "Keep your hair down or in a ponytail. Stay away from those stupid things the noble women do. They don't suit you. At all."

She slid herself up to sit on the frozen rail, being careful to tuck her cloak underneath her bottom. "Thanks for that advice, but not really what I had in mind."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say what's bothering you. Aside from us being assigned different brigades. You knew this was a possibility. It shouldn't be too much of a surprise."

He turned around, took a long breath and then admitted, "I don't think I can survive if I'm away from you."

"Oh, please, Schwann. You'll survive," she said and he could _hear_ her rolling her eyes at him. "True, you'll need someone to tell you if your socks match since you seem to be colorblind in that department, but I'm sure someone will step up the cause."

"I'm not kidding," he spun around. Lines of serious tension pulled on his face. "No, I don't mean like that. I love you and I like who I am when we're together." He paused, then added, "And, I'm afraid of who I'll become when we're apart."

"You think you'll change just because I'm not around? That's ridiculous." She shook her head.

"No, it's not," he said, stepping closer to her until he was standing just in front of where she was sitting. He rested his hands on the rail near her thighs and spoke with complete, devoted sincerity. "You keep me honest, Casey. That month you left for your mother's funeral, I felt lost. I didn't like who I was those four weeks. I wanted to be there with you."

"You know that was impossible," she sighed, her warm breath forming a puff of vapor in the freezing air. "Schwann, no matter where I am, you'll still be you and I'll still be me. You'll always be the guy who can go from serious to playful in the space of a sentence. You'll still be the same self-absorbed jackass that I love. The same guy who looks down the dresses of the barmaids and pretends I don't notice. The guy whose voice jumps two octaves when he gets nervous."

He frowned at her assessment of him. It wasn't quite the romantic answer he was hoping for, but it was honest, raw and sincere—and that's what he loved about her the most.

Brushing his long, dark bangs out of his face, she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. "You'll always be the very same man who can make me feel better even when it seems like the end of the world has hit me. You'll always be someone who cares enough about other people to do what's right even if it's not popular. You'll always be my best friend, my closest confidant and the person I want to see when I wake up in the mornings. No one can change that about you."

He smiled at her, watching her brown eyes dart over his face as if trying to read his mind.

Casey slid off the balcony and wrapped her arms around him. "I've seen you grow up. I've seen you do all these things—become all these things. You won't lose that just because I'm not there. You can't."

"And what about you?" he asked, resting his chin atop her head. "What if I lose you?"

"You won't," she answered, leaning her cheek on his chest. "I swear that on the honor of my family and Altosk."

He held her like that for a long moment, their cloaks keeping the wind at bay just enough. Cheeks red with cold and emotion, he smiled down at her. She was right, even if it wasn't fair.

She murmured into his chest, "Besides, what woman would have you? You're skinny, you haven't grown into your shoulders, your eyes are a funny shade of green and you let your straggly hair hang in your face."

"Well…when you put it like that…" he laughed.

Kissing his flushed cheek, she said into his ear, "We have four weeks before we're shipped out. We should make them count. Anything in particular you want to do?"

He lifted her chin tenderly. "I want to go to Dahngrest with you."

"No. You can't," she drew back, slightly but still remained in his arms.

"Why not?"

"It's not a good idea, okay?" she said, glancing down as if studying the tracks their shoes had made in the snow. "Things aren't good between the guilds and the empire right now. I don't want to go back now. Let's just leave it at that."

"You don't want to go back?"

"No," she said, burying her face into his chest. "I don't want to cause any more trouble for my father. Not right now."

"Trouble?"

"Let's not talk about it, not tonight." She looked up at him with a raised brow. "Besides, I think you owe me a glass of wine or two. It will get the cold out of my bones since you insisted on having this little chat in the snow."

He offered her his arm. "Fair enough. And then I'll take you up on bed."

"Figured you would," she said, giving him a wink and taking his arm. "Daddy told me once that women want everything from one man and men want one thing from every woman."

"Can't say that's false."

"Neither can I, actually."


	5. Chapter Four

**Six years ago…**

It should have been perfect, damn it.

He'd been planning this for weeks—months even. Three whole months they'd gone without seeing each other. It had been this way since they had been deployed, three months apart and then barely a week together before returning to duty. Stationed at Deidon Hold, he often found himself standing on top of the fortress in the evenings and looking towards Capua Nor. Not that he could see her, of course, but it brought a bit of comfort to know that she was in that direction.

Every day was the same for him and even that didn't change a month ago when he earned his promotion. Awake at dawn, patrol the plains, kill the monsters, protect the capital and travelers headed in that direction. It was dull, boring work but he never complained. He just looked forward to the end of each day. Every evening he would eat supper, climb to the top of the fortress, write her a letter and then, in the privacy of the pathways atop the massive structure, practice with the guild weapon—a folding bow—she had given him.

It was a routine and though writing each day might have been considered obsessive, he knew how terrible army mail was and thus, of each ten, he could count on her to get one. She'd write back, telling him of her days in Capua Nor and how she was often selected to sail on the ferry to Capua Torim. She liked these assignments. Travelling on the sea, no matter how short the voyage, was something she enjoyed. Her letters never came often enough, though. After reading each one, he'd long for the next, praying it would arrive before his next leave.

Leave was a precious commodity. He would travel to her since it was easier that way and there were certainly more things to do in Capua Nor than in the fortress. This time, he had something special planned. This time, in the late spring, when the nights were warm, he took her to the bridge in the town. They'd stood there countless times before, watching the boats come and go and chat as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It was their place.

His hands were nervous with sweat and he kept wiping them on the pants of his uniform. His stomach was twitching with anxiety but he decided it was time to do this. He'd saved as much as he could over the past four months. His salary wasn't anything particularly spectacular, but the promotion had given him a bit more to enjoy. And thus, when he saw the perfect ring being peddled by a traveling merchant, he bought it without a second thought.

As twilight fell, she stood next to him, holding his hand and asking a question he didn't hear. She pressed the tip of his nose with a finger. "Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?"

He grinned at her, but it felt sloppy for some reason. "Oh, of course," he stammered. It was a blatant lie.

"Right," she snorted playfully. "Anyway, want to get a drink? The tavern is usually pretty tame this time of evening."

"In a bit," he replied, putting his hands under her arms and lifting her up. Either she was getting lighter or he was getting stronger. He hoped it to be the latter as he set her down to sit on the edge of the bridge.

"You're not going to throw me off?" she teased, kicking her legs as she perched there in the position he placed her. "That's refreshing."

He tried to laugh but his breath caught in his throat. His mouth was running dry and he swore his legs were shaking underneath him. A few passersby had stopped. Apparently they knew what was going on, even if he wasn't sure that he was doing this right. Palms still sweating, he took a small box out of his coat pocket and placed it in her hand.

She raised a brow at him. "What's this?"

With his heart racing, he kneeled in front of her. "Open it. I'm not too good with coming up with things to say at times like this, so…well, you'll get the idea."

As she opened the box, her expression wasn't one that he had expected. Though nothing about her was predictable, he did imagine her to have a bit of enthusiasm or excitement or affection for him. But there was nothing but silence on the bridge and terror in her eyes.

He found his voice somewhere between his dry throat and his heart grating against his ribs. "Well?"

Tears welled in Casey's eyes as she confirmed his fear. "Schwann, I can't."

Three words. Three words he didn't expect to hear. Three words and it was all over. Just like that. Mortified, he stood up, noticing the people behind him who thought they were about to witness something romantic still hadn't dispersed despite her refusal. He glared over his shoulder at them but they remained.

Tears slipped down her face as she clutched the small box and slid off the wall. "I can't. I love you, and I will swear my life to yours, but I can't marry you."

"That makes no sense," he said, looking away from her. He wanted to jump off the bridge. There was no point to any of this now.

He felt her take his hand as she looked over his shoulder. "We're being watched."

Jerking away from her, he said nothing.

"We're too young, Schwann," she said, her voice trembling on the weakest of excuses.

He turned away. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want her to see what she was doing to him. "We're nineteen. I'll be twenty in six weeks."

"Still too young," she said, stepping closer.

His reply was a mutter that sounded like it had been drenched in vinegar. "My mother had me when she was sixteen."

"That was a mistake," she said, before realizing the implications her words would have. Reaching for him, she stammered, "I…didn't mean it like that. I just meant…well, Captain Rosalind told me that her second cousin—your father—he wasn't a very nice man and that he likely—"

He shoved her back. Right now, he cared not to hear her voice much less what she was saying, even though he knew it to be the truth. "Just go away."

She was begging now, her hands folded in front of her as she tried to chase the last of the onlookers away with a scowl. "Schwann…there's more. Let's go back to the inn. I'll explain it there."

Spinning around to place his hands on top of the bridge's wall, he kept his back to her. "I don't want to hear any more about the 'mistake' that I am."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Go back to the inn yourself. I want to be alone right now."

"Schwann…" she said, her voice trembling against tears as she set the box next to him.

"Go," was the barely discernable grunt. "Go away, Casey."

When he was certain she was gone, he threw the box over the side of the bridge.

**********

Hours passed. Night fell. Children were called indoors. Merchants packed up their shops and carts. The tavern had long since closed. The last of the drunks had made their way to wherever they intended to sleep. Capua Nor was dead. Life may have stopped for the time being, but he failed to notice.

In those hours of stillness, a bitter, pelting rain began. It was too fast to be romantic and too cold to be comforting, though he wanted neither of those things. On and on for hours it went, not once letting up for even a moment. Even as the moon rose to its highest point in the sky, the tiny sliver looking like a thumbnail peeking out from the clouds and darkness beyond, the rain had still yet to relent.

Despite the weather, Schwann still stood on the bridge. His hands gripped the rough concrete that made up the wall. Even slicked with rain and tears, the small bumps dug into his skin with each moment and each tightening of his grip. He was going to strangle that bridge. It was the only thing left to do since nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.

Footfalls behind him approached, cautiously, delicately. He didn't even have to lift his head; it was her. Perhaps she had come back to kill him. He decided that would be the most merciful thing for her to do at this point.

Casey called his name, but he didn't look at her. He _couldn't_ look at her.

He couldn't feel the cold or the rain anymore. He couldn't feel anything. "What do you want? The room is paid for. Go back. Go to sleep. I'll come get my things in the morning and you won't have to see me ever again."

"Schwann, I don't want that," she said, her steps sloshing through the puddles between them.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you," she said simply and with finality as she tried to put a hand on his back. "I just want you."

He shrugged her off of him. "I don't want you since I'm only good enough to fuck and not good enough to marry."

"You don't get it," she sighed, moving around to lean against the wall, forcing him to see her face.

Pushing himself up, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She was soaked through her clothes and her matted blonde hair snaked on her cheeks. "I think I damn well do. Just go find another guy to sleep with. That seems to be all you care about anyway. I bet you could find one in that tavern that would be all to happy to—"

Before he could finish the thought, his face stung as her hand made fast, brutal contact with his cheek. "Shut up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just listen for a moment! This isn't just about you, Schwann!"

He drew himself to his full height of nearly six feet, standing at perfect attention just as he'd been taught and glowering down at her. "It's fine. I'm done with you and this ridiculous excuse for a relationship anyway. Just go away, Casey."

She stood in front of him, her lips pouted as her eyes closed. The rain kept slapping both of them as she whispered, "You don't believe that. You don't believe this was a sorry excuse. You can't believe that. Not after all these years."

He shook his head, his drenched dark hair spraying drops all around. "Just go."

She held her ground. "Schwann, I don't want to go. As much as you scare me when you're like this, I want you to understand why I can't accept."

"You already said it. We're too young."

"That's not all."

"Well, I know the other part," his voice was soft but the words were pointed. "The Union boss's daughter isn't good enough for Imperial trash. Don't rub it in."

"No, listen," she sighed, pulling her sopping hair behind her head and futility trying to wring it out. "The guilds don't believe in marriage."

"That's stupid. Why not? Easier on the conscious when you wake up next to some strange man?"

"No," she said, clasping his right hand in both of hers. "Marriage is an institution of the empire. We don't practice their laws. We don't want to do anything their way. We have our own ways and our own traditions."

"Of course you do," he said, pulling his hand from her grasp. "So, let me guess. You don't marry people. You just fuck whoever you want. Great. Have fun with that." He took a few steps back. He had to get away from her.

Casey was still not ready to surrender. Grabbing onto his sodden shirt, she pulled him with such force he nearly lost his balance. "You can hate me all you want but I at least deserve to explain myself."

"Hurry up," he answered, glancing away. "Looking at you just makes me want to jump off this bridge."

"Schwann," she sighed. "The guilds practice a different sort of ritual for commitment than marriage."

"Let me guess, multiple wives? Multiple husbands? How barbaric. Go back to your fucked up traditions since you love them so much and leave me alone!"

She raised her hand to slap him again but he caught her arm and forced it back down to her side. "Shut up and let me finish! We swear our lives to our life mates but we don't require an official document of a ridiculous, overbearing government to approve."

"That's just an excuse. You're not in a guild. You're a knight."

"I'm still a member of the guilds," she whispered as she reached to touch his face and brush the pathetic, limp twists of hair out of his eyes. "Besides, the Union boss' daughter married to a knight? Think of the implications that'll have on your career, Lieutenant Schwann."

He didn't push her away. As angry as he was with her right now, he couldn't hate her. He tried hating her in those hours he was alone and he couldn't do it then and he certainly couldn't do it now. "You're a knight." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"But I'm also the daughter of the enemy of the empire."

"No one knows that," he said, absently drawing her into his arms.

She pressed her cheek into his chest. "I'm sure someone does. And if not, they'll find out. When they do, it would be the end of you and your goals to stop the corruption and bring equality to the people from inside the knights. You know this, Schwann."

"You're either a knight or a guildsman. You can't have it both ways."

"I have to have it both ways," her voice muffled by the soaked fabric of his shirt. "I need both you and my father. You're my best friend and the one person in this world—besides my father—that I trust my life to."

He didn't release her and the words were tender despite their painful message. "You don't need me. You just proved that to me."

She sobbed into his chest as her hands wrung the water out of his shirt. "Damn it, Schwann! Are you that dense? Can't you see?"

"See what?"

She lifted her head to meet his eyes and her tenor carried the truth in her heart as she spoke. "I love you. I would gladly become your life mate by my own traditions, but I cannot marry you by yours. Doing that would be a slap in the face to my family. I love my father and as someone who was born into the guilds I must adhere to our beliefs, even if I have chosen to live among the knights and the empire."

He didn't look away. He followed her glances, as if their eyes were playing a game of chase. Long moments passed as they just looked at each other, the rain still caroming mercilessly on their skin. The water below crashed against the pillars of the bridge as if keeping time as they stood in silence. He rested his cheek on her head, the scent of the flowers she'd rubbed into her hair bringing back memories of happier times. He let her stay there, curled against him. It felt right. It would _always_ feel right.

He knew she was waiting for him to say something. So, he whispered, "What does this guild ritual entail?"

"Two knives, our words and each other. That's it."

"Knives?" he asked, kissing her forehead.

"They're more useful than rings, wouldn't you say?"

"I…guess."

She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his before kissing it. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you do this with me?"

"Would you have asked me had I not asked you to marry me?" he asked, glancing down at a huge puddle and noticing just how much of a mess he looked.

"Yes," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Her breath was a welcome touch of warmth in the shivering rain. "When?"

"I was going to wait until the winter, when we'd have a longer leave."

He sighed, deep and long before looking into her dark eyes. "I love you, Casey. I'm sorry for the things I said. You know that I believe that love allows for all our failings, but I don't know if you're willing to forgive me or if I even deserve to ask for your forgiveness."

She brushed his hair from his eyes and then traced her fingers down his dripping cheek. "I am, and you do."

"So, do I need to be in a guild to do whatever it is that you do in lieu of marriage?" The question sounded harsher than he had intended, but she didn't seem to mind.

"No. It has nothing to do with anyone but us."

He squeezed her tight against him and whispered into her ear. "Let's do it, then. If you'll have me, I mean."

"Of course," she said, slipping her hands around his waist and returning the tight embrace. "Right now?"

"We can do that?"

"It's just between us. We can do it whenever or wherever we want." She smiled at him. "Now is perfect."

He placed a chaste, tender kiss on her lips. "All right. Now, then."

She stepped back from him, passion and warmth filling her eyes. She pulled the slender, short blade she wore on her belt from its sheath and smiled at him. It was an exquisite piece of weaponry—one she had always carried. While the blade itself was impressive, the hilt was downright beautiful. Wrapped in brown leather, it was adorned with red designs and long, ornate gold tassles. Holding it between her teeth, she rolled her left sleeve up to her shoulder, fighting the wet fabric the entire way.

Taking the blade back into her hand, she moved it in two quick, elegant motions, leaving a simple, bleeding "x" etched into her arm. Her words came with an intensity that showed she had practiced this numerous times, looking for just the right way to say it. "I, Casey Whitehorse, full member of Altosk, dedicated member of the Union and sergeant of the Imperial Knights pledge my life and my soul to you, Schwann Oltorain. I swear this on the blood I draw and the knife I present to you in honor of this moment."

With that, she placed the stained blade into its sheath and gave it to him. Licking a finger, she helped the rain wipe the blood from her arm. "Now it's your turn."

It was so different and yet simple, so flawlessly simple. He was back to being nervous and excited at the same time, just as he was hours ago. At least the rain would mask the sweat on his palms this time around. "What do I say?"

"Whatever you'd like. What I used is considered traditional—in Altosk, at least."

"All right," he said, pulling his knife. It was a plain, ordinary one. Standard issue to the knights and not nearly as impressive as hers. Rolling up his right sleeve, he could feel his hands shaking. It wasn't the wound he was worried about. No, a little pain was nothing to him. It was the words. Damn the words.

She was smiling at him, waiting for him. Holding his breath, he cut into his arm just as she had. Then, he bit his lip and hoped the words would come. Miraculously, they did. He felt strong saying them, proud even. "I, Schwann Oltorain, lieutenant of the imperial knights, pledge my life and soul to you, Casey Whitehorse. I will always protect you. I will always love you. My life is yours from this point forward. I swear this on the blood I draw and I knife I give to you."

Her eyes were glassy as she took the knife and sheath from him. Covering the wound he had inflicted with her hand, she attempted to shield it from the rain. "That was perfect. Just as I always imagined it would be from the time I was a little girl." She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Perfect, Schwann. Perfect."

"Really?" he asked, still amazed at the simplicity of the ritual. It was better than a formal, imperial marriage. It was, as she said, just perfect.

"Well, maybe I didn't imagine it with the rain," she teased, kissing his cheek again.

He grinned and wanted more, so he took it. Gently cupping her chin, he gave her a full, deep, passionate kiss that sealed their words to each other. When it finally broke, he asked, "Now what?"

Twirling his bangs deftly around her finger, she replied, "Now, we go to the inn and dry off."


End file.
